A Convergence of Memory
by tutncleo
Summary: Sometimes in life something happens, and all of the ugly memories we have so carefully worked to forget, resurface and demand attention. That is what happens to Tony in this story. Slash, don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**A Convergence of Memory**

**Part One**

_**There was an ear shattering boom, followed almost instantaneously by a blinding eruption of flames, and then pieces of wood and roofing were flying through the air. Shrieks from the crowd gathered down the block combined with the roar of the flames, adding to the horror of the scene. A guttural scream ripped from Tony's throat, as he attempted to lunge towards the now blazing house. Looking up, Gibbs yelled for him to stop, and when he got no response, he leapt from where he'd taken cover during the explosion, grabbed Tony by the ankles and tackled him to the ground. **_

"_**It's too late, DiNozzo," he yelled at the struggling man he'd pinned down. **_

"_**Gotta go help him," Tony argued, as he fought against his captor.**_

"_**There's no point," Gibbs panted, battling to hold his senior agent down. "He would have been killed instantly by the blast." Gibbs couldn't tell if he was getting through to him, or if Tony even heard him. He was having difficulties hearing himself. His ears were still ringing from the explosion, and his heart was pounding so loudly that he swore he could actually hear it.**_

"_**Lemme up," Tony growled, as he tried to push Gibbs off of him. Blood was dripping down his face from cuts he'd gotten from flying debris as he struggled to regain his feet. **_

"_**DiNozzo….Tony, listen to me," Gibbs said, grabbing hold of Tony's face so he could force the younger man to look at him. "He's gone. You hear me? No one to save. No one could have survived that."**_

_**This time Gibbs' words seemed to sink in. Tony stilled, stared up at him, and then went completely limp.**_

That had been two hours ago. Now it was four o'clock, on that Wednesday afternoon, and the team had finally finished up at the scene. The fire department had made short work of the flames. Of course, it helped that they had already been there, standing by on alert, just in case they were needed. The perimeter had been secured and witness statements had been taken. What remained of the body had just been loaded up and was being transported back to the morgue so that Ducky could perform the autopsy, and evidence had been bagged, tagged and would be taken to Abby in the lab. Tony, his face covered in bandages from where the EMTs had attempted to patch up the numerous cuts on his face caused by the flying glass and wood, climbed wearily into the passenger seat of the car. Gibbs slid in behind the wheel, and McGee and Ziva occupied the back seat.

They drove for a few minutes in silence. No one seeming to know what to say. Tony, who could normally be counted on to say something irreverent to lighten the mood, was totally mute, and all of the others were taking turns sneaking glances in his direction. Finally, after they were almost back to the Yard, Ziva asked, "What time is his father expected to arrive?"

"By 1800," Gibbs answered tersely.

"I hope they've already told him," McGee muttered quietly under his breath.

"I would not count on that, McGee," Ziva responded. "It would be just like them to heave the buck."

Tony gritted his teeth. He was in a foul mood, and Ziva's mangling of the English language grated against his last remaining nerve. "Pass, Zeeeevah," he hissed. "Pass the fucking buck." Everyone started at the obscenity, although no one commented. _'Why in the hell can't she learn how to speak English correctly, especially since she's trying to become a citizen,'_ he thought cynically.

Tony's outburst caused Gibbs to glance up at the rear view mirror, to make sure that Ziva wasn't in the process of formulating a retort. Apparently he wasn't the only one who was concerned; he looked just in time to see McGee place a restraining hand on her shoulder, and give a small shake of the head. Ziva raised an eyebrow in response, but settled back against the seat cushions without comment. The car lapsed back into an uneasy silence.

When they got back to headquarters, Gibbs grabbed the evidence from the trunk and said, "McGee, you and Ziva go check in with Ducky. DiNozzo and I will take the evidence down to Abby. "

"Don't see the point," Tony muttered, as he watched the two other agents head off. "We know what she's going to find. We saw the dynamite."

"Not the point," Gibbs told him, and gestured with his head for Tony to follow. He was worried about Tony; he had been for the last few hours, even before the house exploded, but didn't think that this was the time to address the issue. They still had work to do, and part of that included interviewing the boy's father. The elevator ride down to forensics was unusually quiet, as Tony continued to say nothing.

Abby looked up from the computer screen she had been scrutinizing when she heard them enter the lab. Seeing the bandages on Tony's face, she gasped aloud, "Tony!" and then rushed over to him, launching herself into his arms. "Oh my god! Your face! Are you okay? Why didn't anyone tell me you were hurt? What about the others? Is McGee okay? Oh my god, tell me what happened!" she demanded in rapid fire succession, as she clutched onto him.

"Everyone else is fine. And so am I. I just got cut by some flying debris, no big deal," he promised her, wearily wishing she would let it drop. '_She's like an emotional vampire, her need for constant reassurances is sucking the last little bit of energy directly out of my body,'_ he thought bitterly. Everyone seemed to want something from him, and he wasn't sure he had anything left to give, not after today.

"I can't believe this happened," Abby said, her voice muffled by Tony's chest, where she had buried her head. "Someone could have been killed!" Tony stiffened when she said that.

"Someone was killed," he said in an expressionless voice. Then, suddenly feeling as if he was suffocating, he tried to extract himself from Abby's grip, but she continued to hang on.

"I know, and that's sad. But I meant one of you guys. What if you had been in the house when he detonated the dynamite?" she continued, seemingly oblivious to Tony's growing agitation.

"I should have been," was Tony's fierce response; frustration and anger coloring his words. "Then maybe it wouldn't have happened."

Abby raised her head and started to object, but Gibbs cut in. "You were where you were supposed to be. We decided it was too dangerous to enter."

"You decided!" Tony snapped, glaring at his boss as if daring him to deny it.

Gibbs bristled, about to bark back at Tony. That last remark had bordered on insubordination, which he would not tolerate, but there was something about the expression on Tony's face that made him hold his tongue. Tony's rage was uncharacteristic, and completely out of proportion. And underneath the fury lay something else. Something he couldn't quite pinpoint, but if pressed, he would have described it as hurt – a deep, deep hurt. He didn't understand what was going on in Tony's head, but knew that this was not the time or place to explore it.

"Yeah, I decided," Gibbs said, working to keep his voice even and non-confrontational. "And if I had to do it all over again, I'd do the same thing. He was too unstable. Wasn't much chance to get things under control."

"I could have tried. If I had just gotten close to him, made real contact," Tony said softly.

"You did try. You talked with him for over an hour on the phone. Bought us the time we needed to clear all of the neighboring houses," Gibbs told him, not understanding why Tony was taking this so hard. They'd had bad cases before, cases where people died, including cases like today's, where the person who died was a kid. '_God knows those were never easy,'_ he thought, not even when the child was responsible for his own death, but he had never seen Tony take it so poorly. It was almost as if this case were personal. "You couldn't have stopped the kid; he didn't want to be saved."

"Yeah, well, we'll never know now, will we?" Tony said sullenly.

Gibbs just ignored the remark. Unfortunately, Abby didn't. She'd been listening to the exchange, wide eyed. It wasn't like Tony to question Gibbs' calls. He was usually Gibbs' staunchest supporter, defending their boss against any real or perceived criticism from others, enough so that the joke about him being Gibbs' faithful St. Bernard was oft repeated behind his back. "You need to listen to Gibbs," she told Tony, backing out of the embrace she held him in, so that she could grab onto his forearms and look him in the face. "Bossman's always right."

'_Except when he isn't,_' Tony answered silently to himself, barely resisting the urge to say it aloud. Instead, he reached up and pried her fingers off of his arms. Looking away he said, "You should start running tests on the evidence." Abby stared at him, stunned and hurt.

"He's right," Gibbs stepped in, before Abby, could say anymore. "Here," handing her the box he'd been holding. "Want to know exactly what type of dynamite was used, and anything else you can tell me about it, Abs."

"No problemo. Ask and you shall receive," Abby answered, although her response lacked its usual bubbly quality, and her smile looked rather forced.

"The faster the better. We all need to put this case behind us," he told her, hoping she would understand he was talking about Tony. Then, looking at Tony, "DiNozzo, with me."

Gibbs headed for the elevator with Tony on his tail. He didn't say a word until the elevator doors had closed, then he looked over at Tony and asked, "There a problem I should know about?"

"No, nothing," Tony mumbled not looking him in the eye, causing Gibbs to reach out and flip the stop switch on the control panel.

"No, there's no problem, or no, nothing I need to know about?" Gibbs asked, his eyebrow cocked up.

"Neither…. or both….or whatever. You get what I meant," Tony's voice was still low, but there was a discernible edge to it that Gibbs didn't like at all. He sounded brittle and that worried Gibbs.

"Yeah, I do. What I don't understand is why you're blowing smoke up my ass," Gibbs challenged. "Care to share?"

"Nothing to share. " When that statement was met with silence, Tony sighed. Gibbs wasn't going to let that lie. He needed to diffuse the situation, offer up a plausible excuse and hope that Gibbs would let things go, at least for now. He would be more able to deal with all this later, after he had some distance. "Look Boss, I'm just tired, and my face hurts," Tony said, working to sound apologetic.

'_Lie!'_ Gibbs' gut screamed. Tony wasn't any more tired than he'd been hundreds of times before, and he never voluntarily admitted when real injuries were affecting him. Acting on a hunch he suggested, "Maybe you should go home. We can interview the father without you."

"No way!" Tony looked at him with steely determination, his jaw clenched. "I'll pop a couple of Ibuprofens, and be good as new. I want to be there when you talk to Brian's dad…..After all, he may have questions that only I can answer, since I'm the last person the poor kid talked to."

Gibbs was sure that Tony wanted to be there when Commander Hildebrandt was questioned, but he doubted if it was so he could share the kid's last words with his father. Just like most of what he'd been saying for the last hour or so, that statement just hadn't rung true. Something was eating at Tony, something more than just this case, which was more than disturbing enough, in and of itself. It bothered him that Tony refused to tell him what was really going on in his head. He wished that Tony felt free to tell him what was wrong, wished their relationship was different. _'Hell, I wish a lot of things where Tony is concerned, but that can't be helped. Not now, not after all these years of wanting and not saying,'_ he bitterly admitted to himself.

"Suit yourself, DiNozzo," was what he said aloud.

Gibbs switched the elevator back on. He guessed his only hope for figuring out what was upsetting the younger man was to let things play out. He'd just have to make sure he was there, every step of the way, to run interference if it became necessary.

They only had about an hour to work on their reports before Director Vance appeared and informed them that Commander Hildebrandt had arrived, and that he'd shown him to an interview room.

"You do not want him in an interrogation room?" Ziva asked.

Vance frowned at her. "He's a bereaved father, not a suspect, Agent David."

Tony sat his desk, listening to the exchange without comment. _'We'll see how much he's mourning," _he sniped silently, but again, he kept his opinion to himself. When Gibbs stood up, he nodded at Tony, indicating that he should follow him.

"We'll talk to him together," Gibbs told him as they walked to where the commander was waiting. "I'll take the lead."

That was fine with Tony. He was just glad that Gibbs was letting him be a part of the interview; after their 'discussion' in the elevator, he hadn't been sure that would happen. He wanted to be there, though. Needed to hear what the man had to say. Hoped that somehow Brian's father could make this all make sense, because right now, none of it did. How did things get so out of control that a sixteen year old kid ended up blowing himself to smithereens? Tony's gut told him that the commander had the answers to those questions. He just hoped he was wrong about what those answers were going to be.

"Commander Hildebrandt, I'm Agent Jethro Gibbs, and this is my second, Agent Tony DiNozzo. You have our condolences, Sir," Gibbs said, holding out his hand to the man who had stood up when they entered the room. The commander was well over six feet, and heavily muscled. He was clearly someone who had not stopped his physical training as he rose through the ranks. His hair had silvered at the temples and there were dark circles under his eyes, yet dressed in his Navy whites, he was still an imposing man.

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs. Agent DiNozzo." He nodded his head at Tony while he took Gibbs' proffered hand. "I'm still trying to process the whole thing. It doesn't make any sense to me. Are you sure it was really Brian? Let me see the body, maybe it wasn't him."

"I'm afraid that isn't possible, Sir," Gibbs told him gently. "There isn't much to identify. The explosion was pretty devastating."

"Have you called his school? Made sure he isn't there? Why would he be at home, anyway?" the man asked.

Tony stiffened when he asked that. He knew the answer to that question; why didn't Brian's father? Clearly he'd been right. The man had made no time in his life for his own son. That sent his mind racing back over what had happened earlier that day.

Ziva and Gibbs were at a military tribunal, giving testimony for a case they'd worked a couple of months ago, so Tony and McGee had been the first from their team on the scene, even though the local LEOs had beaten them there. Apparently the kid had called in his own bomb threat, asking the police to evacuate the houses around his, since he was going to blow it up and he didn't want anyone else to get hurt. After learning a Naval commander owned the home, the cops had called NCIS, then got busy doing exactly as Brian had requested.

When Tony and McGee had arrived, Tony had immediately established phone communication with the boy. At first the boy wouldn't really talk to him. He kept screaming into the receiver that they should all leave because he had the house rigged with dynamite and that he was going to blow it, and himself, up.

"_**Take it easy kiddo," Tony said. "Tell me who else is in there with you."**_

"_**No one. It's just me and my dad that live here, and he's not home," the boy said.**_

"_**My name's Tony. What's yours?" Tony asked. He already knew the boy's name was Brian, the LEOs had gotten that from the neighbors, but he wanted to establish a connection with the distraught boy right away. **_

"_**Brian, but what does it matter? You need to leave. I'm going to light the fuse any second," the boy had said hysterically.**_

"_**Hang on. Come on, man, talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Why do you want to do something like this?" Tony asked. "Where's your dad, Brian? Let me find your dad, and then we can all talk about this." **_

"_**Good luck with that," the boy said, his voice angry and slightly shrill. **_

Tony had continued talking to the boy, or more accurately, talking _at_ the boy, trying to buy them time while McGee had talked to SecNav, attempting to locate Brian's father. By the time Gibbs, Ducky and Ziva arrived on the scene, they'd discovered that the boy's father was in Hawaii, at some top secret conference. It had taken them over an hour to get the man to a phone and on his way to the airport. Not that that had helped.

"_**We found your dad. He was dealing with an emergency that had come up, but he's on his way here now, and wants to talk to you. I've got him on the other line," Tony told Brian.**_

"_**He can just stay there. I don't want to talk to him. He can't make me change my mind. He doesn't care anyway."**_

"_**I'm sure that's not true. He sounds really worried," Tony assured him.**_

"_**Yeah, he's worried I'm going to embarrass him. Worried this'll hurt my chances of getting into the Academy, and following in his footsteps, as if I cared. That's what he's worried about, not me."**_

"_**You're being kind of hard on the old man, aren't you?" Tony said. "How about you let me come in and we can wait for him together?**_

At that point Gibbs had begun shaking his head frantically. They had successfully gotten spy cameras up to the window of the second floor bedroom the boy was in. They had discovered that Brian really was rigged with explosives. He had several sticks of old fashioned dynamite that he'd strung together and then wrapped around himself. There was no way Gibbs wanted Tony in that house. Before he could even forbid Tony from entering, however, the boy had spoken again.

"_**Stay out there!" he ordered. "If anyone tries to come in here, I'll set the dynamite off immediately, and it won't be my fault if someone else gets hurt."**_

"_**Okay, okay, don't do that," Tony said quickly. "I won't come in right now, and I'll make sure no one else does either. If I do that for you, will you promise you won't set off the explosives right now?" **_

_**Gibbs growled out a warning "DiNozzo!" causing Tony to cover the mouthpiece of the receiver so that the boy wouldn't hear. **_

"_**If I can get in there, I know I can get him to calm down," Tony whispered. "You gotta let me try, Boss."**_

_**There was an agonizingly long pause from the other end of the phone, and then finally Brian said, "What did my dad say when you talked to him?"**_

_**Tony hadn't actually spoken with the father, that had been Gibbs, but he didn't think now was the time to admit that. "He's worried about you. Afraid you'll get hurt," he told the kid. He glanced over at Gibbs as he said that, who nodded and indicated that Tony should continue. "He wants you to wait until he gets here, so the two of you can talk."**_

_**The boy's only response was to weep softly into the phone. Again Tony tried to get permission to enter the house. "Hey Brian, why don't you let me come in? There isn't any reason for you to be alone; I could keep you company, and we wouldn't have to use the phone to talk." **_

"_**I'm used to being alone. It's what I do best when I'm home. I've had a lot of years to get real good at it," had been the boy's wounded reply.**_

That had been the turning point for Tony. Before the kid had said that, it had been just like a hundred other standoff situations, but those remarks had made it personal.

Tony knew all about being alone when you were at home; completely understood how home could be the loneliest place on Earth. That had been what his childhood had been like, although he'd found things to do to keep himself busy, if not exactly happy. He had no trouble relating to how Brian had been feeling. Tony had learned at an early age how to become a master at putting on a happy face, hiding his emotions from the world so well, that half the time, he had even managed to convince himself everything was okay.

He had known from the information that McGee had managed to scrounge up on Brian that he attended a military prep school; so had Tony. Boarding schools were the perfect answer for parents who were too busy to be bothered by the daily demands of parenting. Pack them up, ship them out, and let someone else discipline, educate, and raise your child. After a while, Tony had just found ways to avoid going home. He'd spent most of his vacations with friends, got jobs as a camp councilor over the summers; anything to keep him from having to go back to that big, empty house in Long Island. Apparently Brian hadn't been as skilled at that as Tony had been.

"_**I get being lonely," he told the boy. "I got shipped off to boarding school, too, when I was your age, and there wasn't anyone waiting for me when I got home either. It doesn't last forever, though. You'll be in college soon, and then you can start making your own life. Be who you want to be. Think about your friends, Brian. They wouldn't want you to do something like this. They'll be hurt and confused, don't make them have to deal with this."**_

"_**I don't care anymore," Brian wearily told him. "Besides, they'll forget about me soon enough. Everyone does." There was a pause, and Tony could hear him crying. "This was my spring break, and he had promised me a few months ago that we would do something special together. I emailed him, over and over again, reminding him, and still I get here, and he's gone. No note, nothing. I've been here for five days, and no word from him at all. Bet he has no clue I'm home. This ought to remind him." **_

Before Tony had the opportunity to say anything more, the house had exploded.

And now, that boy's father was sitting here, saying he had no idea why Brian would be at home.

Suddenly he had no idea why he'd ever wanted to be a part of this interview. There was nothing Hildebrandt could say that would help Tony better understand Brian. This man had been a virtual stranger to his son, just like Tony's father had been to him. Just thinking about it made Tony so angry he was shaking.

"_**But you promised you come watch my game. Why do you have to go to that stupid meeting?"**_

"_**He wants me to be just like him, but I can't do it."**_

"_**Buck up, Junior. There'll be other holidays."**_

"_**He wants me to go to the Academy, just like him."**_

"_**I hate him!"**_

"_**I hate you!"**_

Unwanted memories from that afternoon were re-emerging and mingling with even more painful memories from his own past, memories he'd worked years to suppress. He could feel Gibbs studying him, but he avoided meeting his eyes. He was afraid of what he would do if he looked directly at anyone right now. He wanted to punch the man in the face, shout at him, demand to know why it had been so impossible to give his son just a little of the attention he had been so starved for.

"I just can't believe it was Brian," the man said yet again. "He would never make a scene like this."

'_Make a scene?'_ Tony screamed silently. '_Your son blows himself up, and you describe it as making a scene?' _ That was it for Tony, the nudge that sent him reeling over the edge. Little dots started to appear before his eyes, and he knew he must sound like he was almost panting, as he worked to get air. He needed out of that room, immediately, before he did something that would end his career forever.

His eyes shot over to Gibbs, who was looking at him with a mixture of concern and annoyance. "I need to excuse myself," he told his boss.

He didn't wait for an answer; he just turned and walked out to the room as quickly as he could. He walked straight down the corridor, directly through the bullpen, and down the stairs that led to the parking garage. He wasn't really thinking about where he was headed, he just knew he had to get away.

Somehow Tony managed to drive himself to his apartment, although the trip home was a complete blur. When he got there, he hurried to his bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and went directly to the shower, hoping the water would help wash away the vestiges of the day. He stood, eyes closed, leaning against the side of the shower, letting it beat down on him until the water turned cold, and memories from his own miserable childhood began to return. With that no longer working, he turned off the shower and got out. After he'd dried himself off, he pulled on an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt and went to the living room. _'Time to try another form of liquid relief,'_ he told himself. Snatching a bottle of bourbon and a glass from the bar, he carried both over to the sofa and collapsed down onto the cushions. He poured himself some, and sat in the darkened room, sipping on it. The bourbon had a smokey, woody flavor that made him think of Gibbs – the man he most respected – the man he wanted more than anyone else in the world - the man who was most likely furious with him.

Thinking about Gibbs reminded him of something. Heaving his weary body off the sofa, he trudged into the bedroom, still carrying his drink, and grabbed his sports jacket up off the floor from where he'd tossed it earlier. Digging around in the pocket, he found his cell phone. _'Four missed calls – all of them from Gibbs.' _He took another swallow of bourbon while he studied the phone. _'Not good. Four missed calls, and not a single message. What does that mean?'_

As he was holding the phone, trying to decide what to do, it began to ring again. _"Abby,"_ the display stated. Well, he didn't want to talk to her, either. He continued drinking until the phone chimed, indicating that he had a message. Punching his voicemail button, he held the phone to his ear and listened.

"Tony, where are you? The Bossman asked me to call and make sure you were okay. What is going on? Why doesn't he know where you are? Why won't you pick up? Call me, Mister!" her voice shrilled out at him.

Tony pressed '7' to delete the message. He didn't want to talk to her right now. He didn't want to talk to anyone. What would he say? How could he brush off what he had done without having to explain why this case had hit him so hard? Taking another sip from his glass, he dropped the phone back onto the pile of discarded clothing and headed out to the living room.

An hour later Tony lay on the sofa, his glass of bourbon finished, the living room lit only by the residual flickers of light coming from the television. He'd given up on trying to follow the history show he had turned to. Images of a lonely kid, taking a train from boarding school to home, only to discover there was no one there, kept inserting themselves in his mind's eye.

_**When he let himself in, he discovered that the house was beautiful; decorated for Christmas, just like a picture in a magazine. His voice had echoed in the empty space, as he called for his father. No one answered.**_

_**Two weeks later, Christmas long gone, his father returned, accompanied by his new wife. **_

"_**What are you doing here, Junior?" he asked in surprise after he'd introduced Tony to his new stepmother, who seemed as surprised to meet him as he was to meet her.**_

"_**It's Christmas break," Tony told him. "Where else would I be?"**_

"_**I thought I sent you a telegram, telling you to make other plans this year," his dad said.**_

"_**No telegram. And where in the hell did you think I could go?" he asked sullenly.**_

"_**Don't take that tone with me, Junior! I'm your father, and you will show respect for your elders!" his dad barked.**_

_**Boom! The air exploded with a blinding light and flying debris!**_

Tony jerked upright from where he lay on the couch. He was having a hard time keeping things straight. Everything from today was warping, mixing with stuff from his own childhood, and his head was beginning to pound. Suddenly he couldn't stand his apartment. It was too quiet, too empty; the walls seemed to be closing in on him. He had to leave, get some fresh air, regain his balance.

Hurrying into the bedroom, he pulled a light weight jacket from the closet, slid a pair of loafers on his feet, grabbed his phone from the floor, and went to the front door. Just before he closed it, he thought of something. Going back, he snatched the bottle of bourbon and then headed for his car. He needed to put some distance between himself and D.C. Needed to come to terms with what had happened today. Needed to shove all these unwanted memories of the past away, before he had to face everyone at NCIS again.

When he got to the car, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched seven on his speed dial. Vance's assistant answered.

"Sylvia," he said. "It's Tony. Listen, I had a family emergency come up. I need to take tomorrow and Friday off. I've got a ton of personal time due me, and the team's not on call this weekend."

"Oh Tony, that's terrible. You go do what you have to. Don't worry about anything here. I'll make sure Gibbs knows. I hope everything turns out okay."

"Yeah, me too," Tony answered, right before he disconnected. _'I hope everything turns out okay,'_ he snorted as he thought. What were the odds things would turn out okay? He'd lost complete control of himself. He'd left Gibbs standing in an interview room with no explanation, hadn't returned his calls, couldn't seem to tell reality from memory, and now he was essentially going AWOL. How was any of that going to turn out okay?


	2. Chapter 2

**A Convergence of Memory**

**Part Two**

Tony didn't really have a destination in mind. He just got in the car, pointed it west, and started to drive. His goal was to outdistance his unruly memories which kept pushing at the edge of his consciousness, demanding attention. It helped that it was night, since that required him to pay closer attention to the road and vehicles around him. The moon was bright and illuminated the rocky faces of the surrounding hills as he drove deeper and deeper into the Blue Ridge Mountains. He had been driving for almost an hour and a half on Highway 66 when he was surprised to see a sign advertising the Skyline Drive, a road that cut directly through Shenandoah National Park. He hadn't even realized he'd driven that far. It had been years since he'd taken the time, but once he had loved hiking the trails in the park. You could lose yourself there in the grandeur of the mountains. '_That's what I need,'_ he thought to himself, as he steered his car off the highway and onto the road that would take him to the northern most entrance to the Drive.

Twenty minutes later, after having paid his $10 fee for a week long visitor's pass. Then, after assuring the ranger on duty at the entrance gate that he knew where he was going and would be okay in the dark, he was slowly working his way south. And yet still the unwanted memories kept coming.

"_**I don't understand why you'd rather waste your time supervising a bunch of snotty nosed brats all summer long, when I am offering you a chance to intern at my real estate office in South Hampton."**_

"_**I already told you, Dad. I don't want to go into business. Coach says if I keep improving, I've got a real chance of going into pro ball when I graduate from college. Plus, this will look good on college applications."**_

"_**Grow up, Anthony. I haven't wasted all my money on sending you to expensive boarding schools so you can turn around and become an idiotic college jock. Do you think I didn't have other things I could have done with that money? I was making an investment, and now you want to squander it away."**_

"_**Look, maybe I can major in business when I get to college, even if I am playing football. Would that make you happy?"**_

"_**This playing football is a pipe dream. Half the boys in America want to be professional football players; boys that are stronger and faster than you. I thought you had more sense, but I can see I was wrong."**_

"_**How in the hell would you know how good I am? You've never bothered to come see me play. You're always too fucking busy!"**_

"_**Don't use that language with me, young man. But you're right. I am too busy. Busy making money to pay for all the things you take for granted. Your stepmother and I are going out of town tomorrow for a few days. When I get back I expect to hear that you've seen reason, and will be joining us here for the summer."**_

"_**I'm not changing my mind!"**_

_**"Then you'd better save your pennies, since I refuse to finance this stupidity. If you insist on taking this course of action, you are on your own. Use the money you earn at that camp and what your mother left you, because I'm not paying another red dime to help you throw your life away."**_

"_**Fine! I don't need you."**_

"_**We'll see about that."**_

Tony shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory. That had happened during his last spring break from high school. It was also the last time he'd spent more than one night at his father's home. He'd actually gotten a partial scholarship to play for Ohio State. That, in conjunction with his monthly allowance from his trust fund, had allowed him to pay his tuition and live in the frat house while he'd been in school. It had been a fairly frugal existence, but he'd gotten by. He learned quickly how to trade on his sense of humor and good looks, and had become popular. There had never been a shortage of people who wanted to hang out with him, and he could have his pick of sexual partners. It was in college that he learned he swung both ways. He responded to the person, not the gender. He hadn't even tried to hide it, which was a testimony to his popularity, because usually jocks were completely weirded out by bisexuality. With Tony, however, they'd just shook their heads, laughed, and said, "That's Tony. What are you gonna do? If it looks good, and is breathing, he'll screw it."

That hadn't been quite the case, but he'd never bothered to correct them. What was he going to say, anyway? That he was searching for something? Looking for someone who made him feel wanted, needed, free to be himself – warts and all? Someone like Gibbs.

'_Damn it! You're not going there now! Aren't you screwed up enough, already?'_ he asked himself sternly. He refused to let himself sink down into the mire that was his unresolved longing for his boss. Gibbs already gave him so much, without even being aware of it – a place where he could excel, a sense of belonging, absolute trust. And how had he repaid that trust? By walking out, with no explanation. And then, to add insult to injury, he'd shirked his duty, called in, run away. _'That was bound to impress him,' _he thought bitterly. _'What in the hell would make him be interested in you?!'_

Driving wasn't doing it for him anymore. He needed to try something else. Maybe walking would help. He started to look for a pull off, but it was slow going. Skyline Drive was treacherous, and because of that, the speed limit was only 35 mph. Finally he came to a rest stop. Pulling the car into the parking lot, he reached over and grabbed his phone. _'No reception – perfect!'_ He tucked it into a pocket anyway, just in case. Even if calls wouldn't go through, he knew that texts would probably work. If something earth shattering happened, he could count on Abby or McGee to send him a heads up. He looked at the bottle of bourbon he'd grabbed on his way out the door, but decided against bringing it along. It hadn't helped earlier, so it probably wouldn't work now, either. He could drown his sorrows in it later, if he had to.

Sliding out of the car, he crossed the grassy area, searching for the entrance to a footpath. He didn't have to look long. Up ahead was the entrance to several trails, each marked with a sign, rating them by level of difficulty. Deciding that the harder he had to work, the less time he'd have for obsessing about past events that couldn't be resolved, he headed down the path marked 'difficult'.

He hadn't gone very far before he discovered that the 'difficult' designation for the trail had been no exaggeration. As he scrambled over rocks, and leaped over tiny streams, he was glad that he had on athletic shoes. While he'd been driving, the moon had provided more than adequate light, but now tree branches stretched across the night sky, rendering the trail almost pitch black. He knew he could pull out the pin light he kept attached to his key ring, but chose not to. Having to think about every step was providing just the distraction he'd hoped for. He followed the path for miles, as it got later and later and the sky grew ever darker. Occasionally, there would be a break in the tree cover, and he could see the stars blazing in the clear night sky. When that happened, moon beams would spill through, illuminating the path like spot lights on a darkened stage. He could hear the hoots from night owls and the rustling of other wild life as he pushed forward, a reminder that he wasn't alone in the world.

Finally, making it through a particularly strenuous section of trail which had been an unrelenting uphill trek, he broke through the dense foliage to discover he was on a plateau. After being in the shadows of the trees for so long, the pale glow from the full moon made it feel almost like daytime. Moving to the edge of the hill, he looked down. Below him lay acre after acre of rolling forest; the top of the trees, painting them silver in the moonlight. Still trying to catch his breath from the climb, he sat down, dangling his legs over the side. Reclining back, he stared up into the heavens. It looked so different here. In D.C., the residual glow from the city lights dulled the stars, but here, free from the glare of civilization, the stars shone with abandon. As he studied the constellations, trying to locate the Big and Little Dipper, a falling star shot through the sky.

_**Tony stood on the back patio, pounding on the glass doors that led into the sun room, but no one came. He'd tried every door to the house, but they were all locked tight. He had hoped that Maria was still in the kitchen, but since she hadn't come to his rescue, he guessed he'd been wrong. Out of options, he slumped down against the glass. He'd have to wait until his father got back from where ever he'd gone that night. He hadn't meant to be late getting home, but he'd been having fun and time had gotten away from him. Tony began to shiver. It had been warm when he'd gone to Jason's house to play that afternoon, but now, as night fell, the air was picking up a chill from the ocean, and he wished he had a jacket. **_

_**Something loud woke him up with a start. He'd fallen asleep, cold and hungry, while he huddled against the house. It was completely dark out now, and he sat there, listening to the night sounds. All of his nine year old bravado disappeared as his imagination began to run away with him, and he grew scared. Unwanted thoughts of the ghost stories and urban myths that he and his friends told each other crept into his consciousness, increasing his discomfort. Something made the trash cans around the side of the house clatter, and although he told himself it was just a raccoon, his heart started to race and his hands shook. He scared himself when his stomach growled loudly, and he drew up into a tight ball, partially for warmth and partially to make him as invisible as possible. Trying to distract himself, he looked up at the sky and began to count stars. He was still doing that when he fell asleep again.**_

'_God, that was a long time ago,'_ Tony thought. He'd ended up spending the entire night out there, having slept through his father's return. Maria, the housekeeper, had found him the next morning, still sound asleep. She'd given him a warm bath and hot oatmeal. His father, when he found out, had given him a lecture about promptness and responsibility. _'Nurturing, DiNozzo style.' _

He closed his eyes and searched for a happier memory.

"_**I've never really seen a meteor shower before," he told Gibbs, as they lay on the ground in the Arizona desert, gazing upward.**_

_**Gibbs snorted, "You never took the time to look, too busy enjoying the nightlife. Expect you'll really live it up if you get that inheritance."**_

"_**Not much for that these days, Boss. Doubt if the inheritance would make much of a difference. I'd have a better car to drive to work in, is all. But don't tell McGee or Ziva; you'd ruin my image."**_

"_**Don't tell me you're getting old, DiNozzo," Gibbs chuckled.**_

"_**Not old, just wiser," he answered.**_

"_**Your secret's safe with me," Gibbs assured him.**_

"_**Appreciate that, Boss." The fire crackled, sending sparks flying up in the air to join the stars. 'This was nature's fireworks,' Tony thought, as he glanced back and forth between the meteor shower and the dancing fire. He thought about saying something, but decided it was too sappy, and would just make him sound more like one of the guys in 'City Slickers', the film he'd had a hard time getting out of his mind, ever since he'd learned that they were going to have to ride horses into the desert. **_

"_**You boys planning on talking all night?" the sheriff asked then, breaking the mood.**_

Tony had resented Sheriff Boyd's presence. There was something innately romantic about sleeping out under the stars, and he'd fantasized repeatedly about what it would have been like if it had just been he and Gibbs. But it hadn't been, nor was it ever likely to be. Especially now, after he'd been weak and allowed his own past to get the better of him. _'Why do you keep sabotaging yourself, you idiot?" _he berated himself. '_Gibbs doesn't have any patience for crap like this.' _

Tony sat back up. Grabbing a handful of rocks from the ground next to him, he began to absentmindedly toss them over the edge. He couldn't hear them when they hit the ground, but having something to do helped him to refocus. All of the adrenaline caused by his need to escape seemed to have seeped away, leaving him tired and sore. The cuts on his face were beginning to hurt, and his body ached from bruises he'd sustained when Gibbs had wrestled him to the ground, to prevent him from running into the burning house. That had been a joke. What in the hell had he thought he could do? By the time he'd registered on what had happened, Brian was long dead. _'The time to do something had been before, and you failed miserably there.' _None of this was helping.

Looking back up, he noticed that it was beginning to lighten. Somehow it had moved from being late night, to early morning. All that time, and nothing was resolved. The sun would be up soon. From where he sat, he watched as vivid streaks of pink and lavender light broke through the night clouds, pushing them away, as the sky began to bloom. He stayed at his perch along the mountainside as the sun was in her ascendancy, wiping away the soft pastels and replacing them with a rich orange and gold. When the show of lights was finally over, and the sky had moved to blue, Tony slowly rose to his feet. He needed sleep, and a small ledge on the side of a mountain was not the place to get it.

The trail looked very different now. He'd had no idea it was as treacherous as the daylight revealed. There were several places where he had been mere feet from the edge of the mountain, and it had been sheer luck that had prevented him from tripping and going over the side. The pathway was strewn with red and orange fallen leaves, making it slick in spots, and the creeks he had leaped over last night, without thought, seemed bigger in the morning sun. It took him over two hours to backtrack to his car. He hadn't been aware of hiking that far the night before. By the time he got there, he was beyond exhaustion. As he pulled back out onto Skyline Drive, he watched for an exit that would lead to lodgings. He didn't care where he ended up, anything would do, he just needed a bed.

Eventually he saw an exit for a town called Luray. Taking it, he didn't have to travel far before he came to small motel, nestled between the mountains and the road. It didn't look very appealing, but he was past being picky. The man at the front desk barely spoke English, but after a bit of hand gesturing he held the key to Room 108 in his hand. As he went back to his car to get the overnight kit he always kept there, he idly thought that it was a bad sign that they had a room vacant and ready for occupancy at 8 in the morning.

Those suspicions were proved justified when he slid the key into the lock. It took him several minutes of jiggling before he could even get the door open, and once he did, he was tempted to shut it again. The room was a sorry throwback to the 1970's, complete with ugly burnt shag carpet, that had been matted down flat in spaces from years of wear and abuse. Stale air, that reeked of old smoke wafted out at him, and as his hand slid across the wall next to the door, he realized there was no overhead light. Leaving the door open for illumination and fresh air, he crossed over to the double bed that was covered with a faded old floral bedspread, and switched on the lamp on the bedside table. He then crossed over to where a slightly rusted brass dressing table sat, and clunked his kit down atop it. Next, he went to the windows, and was pleased to discover that he could open them, and that they actually had screens. Then he shut the door, stripped down to his boxers, and collapsed onto the bed, which creaked loudly as it received his weight. Closing his eyes, he hoped things would look better when he awoke.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Convergence of Memory**

**Part Three**

Gibbs got to work earlier than usual Thursday morning. He was hoping to catch Tony before the others arrived.

He'd spent the previous evening thinking about the events of yesterday, and he was hard pressed to decide what bothered him most. Tony's willingness to recklessly endanger his own safety by attempting to get the boy to let him in the house had been troubling; but Gibbs had been even more disturbed when Tony had tried to run towards the burning building. Then there had been the silence, the silence that screamed louder than words ever could. Gibbs might not be good at communicating, but he was attuned to his team, especially Tony. He'd made a second career of secretly watching and studying his senior agent. Last night, as he thought back over the day, he had realized that the case played directly into all of Tony's unresolved daddy issues. Not that Tony had ever said anything much about it, aside from the occasional random comment, said in passing and meant to be funny; but Gibbs knew. He'd caught the minute tightening around Tony's mouth and eyes, had seen the stiffening of his shoulders, and the slight jerkiness that replaced his natural grace every time he let one of those barbed comments fly. If only he'd paid better attention last night, rather than allowing himself to get completely caught up in the case, maybe he could have stepped in before Tony had felt the need to cut and run.

Yet perhaps the most worrisome thing to him was Tony's refusal to answer his cell phone. Tony knew better than to be out of touch. That had been the clearest sign of just how distressed he had been. Usually Tony answered his calls before the second ring, but now he was willfully ignoring them. He hated the fact that he'd had to break down and ask Abby to try calling him, and he had no idea what it meant when Tony hadn't taken her call either. He had even considered with the idea of driving over to Tony's apartment last night, but had eventually rejected the notion. Despite what he wished for, they didn't have that kind of relationship. Instead, he'd settled for trying to reach Tony on his home phone, only to get no answer. If he weren't so worried, he would be furious.

Gibbs was on his second cup of coffee, and the beginnings of a very nasty headache, by the time McGee rolled in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the younger man surreptitiously glance at Tony's unoccupied desk and then over at him. McGee was becoming a good investigator, and Gibbs was sure he hadn't bought into the story he'd offered up last night, when he'd explained Tony's absence by saying he'd been called away to deal with another issue. At least McGee had the good sense not to ask any questions. Ziva, on the other hand, had wanted to know what Tony was working on, and he'd had to snap at her to focus on her own job, and let him worry about Tony's. Gibbs was just toying with the notion of stepping out and trying Tony's cell phone again, when Sylvia, from Vance's office, rang him.

"Good morning, Agent Gibbs," she chirped. He wondered silently what was good about it.

"Uh huh," he answered.

"Yes, well," she said, flustered. "Um, I just wanted to let you know that Agent DiNozzo phoned in last night, and he's been called away due to a family emergency. He's using two of his personal comp. days, but wanted me to let you know that he'd be back on Monday morning."

When that information was met with total silence, she cleared her throat and said, "Well, you have a good day," and hung up.

Gibbs stared at the receiver in his hand.

"We catch a case?" McGee called over from his desk.

"No, no case," Gibbs snapped, and said nothing more. Now his gut was churning in time with the pounding in his head. There was no way Tony had been called away on a family emergency, not last night. That was just a convenient excuse, a lie. Another deception in the long line of tiny deceptions Tony practiced on a daily basis. And Gibbs knew it, and yet he had let Tony continue, day after day, month after month, year after year. _'Hell, I've even been complicit in it,' _he upbraided himself. _'I encouraged his ability to become someone else – used it on innumerable undercover missions. I've looked the other way when I knew he was in trouble, despite the happy face he put on, sure that he'd work things out for himself. Let him push himself, even when I knew he wasn't 100%. How long did I think that could go on, before there was a price to pay? How can I get angry now, when he tells another lie.' _

Pushing away from his desk, he rose. "Going for more coffee," he grunted at McGee.

When he got into the elevator he debated on where to go. For once, he didn't really want more coffee; he wanted Tony. He wanted him here, at work. He wanted Tony behind him in the field. He wanted him at home, in his bed. He wanted a lot of things, things he'd never been able to bring himself to pursue. And now he had no clue where Tony was, or what he was thinking, and that was not acceptable. Punching 'L' on the control panel, he headed for the lobby. For now he would have to settle for coffee; he'd see about the other things later.

The day dragged by for Gibbs. Commander Hildebrandt, although a sorry excuse for a father, had not been directly responsible for his son's death. True, the dynamite had been his, left over from decades ago, when he had been an ordinance specialist with the Navy. It was so old, he'd even forgotten he still had it. The boy must have found it at some point, while digging through old boxes in the attic. The commander was merely guilty of neglect, and now he would have to live with the consequences. By 1500 hours they had finished all of the paperwork on the case, and had gone back to cold cases. Since they were off rotation for the weekend, it was highly unlikely that Vance would send a new case their way until Monday. Gibbs had originally intended to use the rest of today and tomorrow to practice on the firing range and hone their hand to hand combat skills in the gym, but without Tony there, he'd lost his enthusiasm for those projects. Instead, he allowed them to sink into the drudgery of reviewing old files and re-examining evidence.

At 1600 hours, when Ziva went down to the evidence locker to look at something, no longer able to ignore his gut, Gibbs walked over to McGee's desk. "I want you to call up the GPS coordinates on Tony's phone and give me the results. And McGee, don't say anything about this to anyone else."

To his credit, McGee didn't ask any questions; he just nodded his head. Gibbs stood there while McGee plucked away at his computer. Within minutes he had the results. "He's in Luray, VA. Hold on and I'll back track, and see where he's been for the last several hours." Again he typed away.

"Looks like he's been in the same place for the last eight hours. Before that he was further north, up in the Blue Ridge Mountains." He fell quiet as he continued to pound on his keyboard.

"Near as I can tell, he left his apartment last night around eight. Drove west to Front Royal, and got on the Skyline Drive. At some point he left the road, and moved through what had to be woods. He spent several hours in one spot in the mountains, then early this morning he drove to Luray, where it looks as though he still is. I'll call up more details on his coordinates and see if I can get you an exact location." Gibbs stood, while McGee did his thing.

Finally McGee grunted triumphantly. "He's at the Bluebird Motel. It's right off the Luray exit ramp of Skyline, on the outskirts of town. Do you want the phone number?"

Gibbs thought about that question for a moment. Did he want the phone number? Would Tony answer the phone if it rang? "Write it down for me," he finally told McGee.

"Are you going after him?" McGee asked.

Gibbs looked at him, aware of how much guts that question had taken. Two years ago McGee wouldn't have been able to say that. "Do you think I should?" he asked.

"Someone should, and you're the best choice," McGee answered.

Gibbs picked up the phone on the younger agent's desk and dialed. When it was answered, he barked into it. "Sylvia, this is Agent Gibbs. I'm using a personal day tomorrow. Tell Vance that if anything comes through, Agent McGee is in charge." Then he hung up, nodded at McGee and said, "I'll see you on Monday. Call me if you need me, or if anything changes," and he jutted his chin at the computer when he said that, and waited to make sure McGee understood his meaning.

McGee nodded his understanding. "If he moves, I'll call."

"And Tim," he turned back to look at him once more.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything to anyone," McGee finished his sentence for him.

Gibbs nodded and headed for his car.

* * *

Tony had awakened at around noon, dry mouthed and hungry. He stumbled into the bathroom in search of a glass, which he found on the countertop next to the sink. The water that came out of the tap wasn't the cleanest, but he was too thirsty to care. After drinking three glasses of the iron laden well water, he grabbed the bar of soap that sat on the counter, stripped off his boxers and climbed into the shower. He didn't spend much time there, just long enough to drag the soap over his body and through his hair. It wasn't his usual grooming routine, but for today it would do. When he deemed himself clean enough, he turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing the thread bare towel that hung from the rack and dragging it haphazardly across his body. He tossed the towel on the counter, and took his still damp body back into the main room, and looked around. Spotting his kit on the brass vanity, he extracted a clean pair of jeans which he pulled on, not bothering to take the time to find a pair of underwear. A little more digging produced an old sweatshirt. He then scrounged around until he found a comb, a tooth brush, some paste, and a disposable razor. Armed with these things, he headed back to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he was as presentable as he was going to get. Now he had to find something to eat.

He snatched his keys off of the bedside table where he'd dropped them yesterday, fished his wallet out of his discarded pants, pocketed the room key, and headed for his car. Figuring his best bet was to head towards Luray, he pulled out of the hotel and onto the main road. He hadn't traveled more than a mile when he came to a McDonald's. That would do. He didn't need anything fancy, and at least there was a degree of standardization from one McDonald's to the next. When he pulled in, he discovered that surprisingly enough, there was a line at the drive through. As he waited for his turn to place his order, he reached into his pocket to check the messages on his phone, only to discover he didn't have it with him. _'Must have left it in my jacket pocket,' _he said to himself. _'Oh well, hadn't really intended to return any of the calls anyway,' _he thought, as the line began to move.

In a matter of minutes, he had a bag full of greasy food that would have turned Abby's stomach, an enormous soda, and was parked outside his hotel room again. He let himself in, and walked over to the dresser that held the ancient TV. He didn't bother looking for a remote. At least he knew he would get reception, since there was a cable cord that snaked out of the back of the television, and had been secured along the side wall with black duck tape until it came to a primitive hole that had been drilled in the back wall. When some talk show popped up, audible but grainy, he decided that would do, and headed for the bed to eat his food. He glanced at the television, without really focusing on what was being said, as he chewed on his Big Mac. He saved his French fries for last, since they were his favorite part of the meal. As he swallowed one, then licked his lips to get up any of the remaining salt, he remembered another time he'd eaten McDonald's fries.

"_**I want a cheeseburger, French fries, and an orange soda" he told his mother with glee, as they climbed out of the station wagon. **_

"_**If that's what my little man wants, then that's what he gets," she told him with a smile. Tony loved when his mother smiled. To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.**_

"_**Are we going to take it to the park?" he asked.**_

"_**It's Friday, isn't it?" she reminded him. She picked him up from school every Friday, and they would go to McDonald's or Taco Bell, get something to eat, and then take it to the park beside the beach to eat. Afterwards they would walk along the sand, skim rocks over the waves, and build sand castles. It was Tony's favorite time of the week; the time he had her all to himself. **_

"_**Can we go to the movies tomorrow? 'The Muppet Movie' opened this week," he said hopefully.**_

_**His mother sighed, "Not this weekend, honey. Your father has some investors he's trying to impress, and I have to keep their wives entertained. Maybe Maria could take you, or if you can wait, we can try and see it some afternoon next week."**_

"_**I'll wait for you," he told her, a bit dejectedly. **_

"_**I'm glad," she said, as she pulled him to her and hugged him tight. "There's no one I'd rather see a movie with." And she kissed the top of his head, as they walked arm and arm into the restaurant. **_

He'd never gotten to see the movie with his mother. She'd been killed in a car accident that weekend.

Tony looked at the remaining fries. He'd lost his appetite for them. Dumping them back in the bag, he walked over and tossed the whole thing into the waste basket. He had thought he was pulling himself out of his slump, finding his stride again. That last reminiscence had been like a punch to the gut. It was bad enough that he'd spent all yesterday reliving one ugly encounter after another with his father, he couldn't bear it if he started to think about his mother, too.

Tony grabbed the car keys off of the dresser on his way to the door. When he got out to his vehicle, he unlocked the door and pulled out the bottle of bourbon, which he brought back to his room. He intended to drown those memories, push them to the back of his head where they belonged, even if it took the entire bottle of booze to do it. He didn't bother with a glass; he just opened the bottle up and took a healthy swig. The liquor burned as it slid down his throat, but he didn't let that stop him. Gulping down another drink, he moved back to the TV. He needed to find something that would hold his attention – something he could lose himself in. Unfortunately, his choices were limited. He finally settled on reruns of "Buffy". If nothing else, he could laugh over the silliness of the whole thing. Turning it up, so the volume was all encompassing, he walked back over to the bed, and spread himself out, still clutching the bottle. On the screen, Buffy and her friend Willow were having yet another argument about Buffy's relationship with Angel. Tony watched, resolutely blocking out any memories that tried to creep in. It became a little easier with every swallow of bourbon.

The afternoon crept by for Tony. 'Buffy' was replaced by 'CSI', and he entertained himself by counting to see how many forensic errors they could include in each episode. Unfortunately, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Tony to keep track of the numbers in his head, so finally he had to resort to scratching hatch marks on a piece of paper. He fell asleep at some point during the third episode, after they'd made their sixteenth mistake.

_**Tony was trying hard not to cry. **_

"_**Boys don't cry!" His dad had told him that on more than one occasion. **_

_**But he was alone and scared. He'd been in this hotel for over two days now by himself, and had no idea where his father was. **_

_**He'd woken up on Thursday morning to discover his father hadn't come back to the room the night before, but hadn't thought that much about it. He'd just ordered a room service breakfast, and had then put on his swim suit and gone down to the pool. He'd spent most of the day there. When he went back to their room, however, he discovered that his dad still wasn't back. He had dinner sent up and fell asleep in front of the TV. **_

_**When he woke up on Friday and his father still wasn't back, he began to get concerned. What if something had happened to him? What if he was hurt somewhere, and no one knew? What if he was dead? His mother had died, so it was possible his dad could, too. What happened to boys that had no parents? Would he be sent to an orphanage? Would his aunt or uncle take him in? Those questions had run through his head the entire morning, as he sat on the sofa in the suite, worrying about whether his dad was okay. **_

_**Finally, when it got to be evening, and he still hadn't heard from his dad, Tony took himself down to the concierge's desk. Maybe his dad had left him a message and they'd just forgotten to deliver it to him.**_

"_**Excuse me, sir," he said politely, just as his father had taught him to. "My name is Anthony DiNozzo. I'm staying in the Hibiscus Suite with my father."**_

"_**How may I help you, young man?" the concierge asked him.**_

"_**I was wondering if you had any messages for me," he said.**_

_**Tony saw the man hide a smile. "Let me take a look," he told Tony. After shuffling through a stack of slips, he said, "No, no messages. I'm sorry." Tony tried hard not to panic. He didn't know what to do. This was beyond anything his twelve years of experience had prepared him for. **_

"_**My dad has been gone since Wednesday night, and I don't know what to do," he told the man.**_

"_**I beg your pardon?" the concierge said to him.**_

"_**My dad. I haven't seen him since Wednesday," he tried to clarify.**_

"_**You mean you are up there in that room all alone?" the man said in disbelief.**_

"_**Yes," Tony said quietly.**_

"_**This won't do. Not at all. Children cannot stay here unaccompanied by an adult. And what about the bill?!? Who is going to pay the bill?"**_

_**Tony didn't have an answer for that. He was losing his battle not to cry. They were going to kick him out. He was going to find himself out on the street, in a strange city, with no way to find his dad.**_

Tony fought his way out of the nightmare. He was sweating and close to hyperventilating. Looking around blurrily, it took him a minute to remember where he was. He pushed the pad of paper he'd been using to keep track of 'CSI' inaccuracies to the side, and set the bottle of bourbon on the bedside table, as he lurched unsteadily to his feet. _'Air, I need air!' _he thought in a panic. _'I need to get out of here.' _The dream had made it so he couldn't stand to be in a motel room. Not right then. He gingerly made his way across the room and grabbed his jacket. He was still more than a little inebriated, although not to the point of being falling down drunk. He knew he couldn't drive right now, but he could walk.

When he got outside, Tony looked around. The sun was setting, although it wasn't completely dark yet. He noticed that the back of the motel faced a wooded area that abutted the mountains. _'That'll do.' _He headed in that direction, wanting to put some distance between him and the room.

The going was considerably more difficult this time, partly because there was no trail, and partly because he wasn't steady on his feet. The sun had almost set, and the moon had yet to rise; so once he got into the woods, it was very dark. Even in his altered state, he realized he couldn't go very far in, or he'd never find his way back out. He'd only been walking for about ten minutes when he came to a small stream. He looked down at his tennis shoes. He'd prefer not getting them wet, so he prepared to leap it, as he had the night before. Of course, the night before he hadn't been drinking, but he neglected to take that into account. When his feet touched the other side, his left leg slipped on the wet bank and slid out from under him. As he tottered, trying to regain his balance, he overcompensated, and before he knew it, he had fallen backwards, and was sitting on his ass, in the middle of the water.

'_Well, isn't this just great?!?' _The water seemed to take all the steam out of him, and the bourbon caught up to him again. He just didn't have the energy to get up. Drawing his legs up, he wrapped his arms around them and rested his forehead on his knees. _'I'll move in a minute,' _he promised himself, as he let his eyes close.

While Tony sat in the water, Gibbs had broken a number of speed records getting to Luray. He hadn't bothered with the Skyline Drive. He wasn't interested in the scenery, and it would have taken too long. He pulled into the Bluebird Motel at 1800 and parked by the front office. He'd seen Tony's car when he pulled in, but had no idea which room he was in.

"I'm looking for Anthony DiNozzo. He checked in this morning. What room is he in?" Gibbs asked the man at the front desk.

"I am sorry, sir. I cannot share that information. I need to protect the privacy of our guests." At least that was what Gibbs thought he said. The man had a heavy Mid Eastern accent and was difficult to understand.

Pulling out his badge and shoving it on the counter, he growled. "I'm a federal agent. Do you understand that? Now, what room is he in?"

"Room 108. Is he a criminal? Should I be afraid?" Gibbs didn't bother to answer; he was already halfway out the door.

He went back to his car and drove it over to where Tony's sat. Parking, he looked at the doors in front of him. 108 was right there. Reaching over to his glove compartment, he pulled out his lock pick set, just in case Tony refused to open the door. Now that he'd come this far, there was no going back. Tony was going to talk to him, he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Walking up to the door, he could hear a TV blaring in the room. He knocked loudly. When Tony didn't answer, he banged harder and called out, "Tony, its Gibbs. Open up."

Still no answer.

"Damn it, Tony. Open the door!" he yelled as he pounded against the shut door. After he had given Tony a minute to respond, he unzipped his kit, and pulled out a pick. He put his hand on the door knob, wanting to assess whether Tony had both the door and the deadbolt locked. When he turned the knob and the door swung open, he cursed, "God damn it!" Tony knew better than to be in a room with the door unlocked.

He stalked into the room, ready to give Tony hell for his carelessness. Once in, however, he stopped abruptly. Tony was nowhere in sight! "Tony?" he called, as he began to move towards the bathroom. Maybe Tony was in there. But the bathroom was empty. Walking back into the bedroom area, he looked around more carefully. The room was disgusting, and it stank from a combination of stale smoke and alcohol. A nearly empty bottle of booze sat on the table next to the bed, which looked like it had been slept on. Walking over there, he noticed a pad of paper. Picking it up, he saw a series of scratch marks all over the top page. He had no idea what that meant.

"Where in the hell are you, Tony?" he asked aloud. Of course he received no answer. Where could he have gone, and why hadn't McGee called him to give him a heads up? Pulling out his phone, he punched his speed dial.

"McGee," he barked into the phone.

"Is Tony okay?" McGee asked in concern.

"I don't know; he's not here!"

"Shit!" McGee breathed into the phone. "Hang on, Boss. I just got home. I made it so I could call up his GPS tracker from here. Let me get my computer going."

Gibbs investigated the room while he waited. He didn't want to discover that Tony had left his phone in there, somewhere. First he turned off the television, then he found the pile of Tony's discarded clothes on the floor by the bathroom. He noted the used towel on the counter. Tony must have taken a shower he realized. In the trashcan by the bed, he found a half eaten meal from McDonald's, but nowhere he looked did he see the cell phone.

"Boss, you still there?" McGee's voice rang out at him.

"Where else would I be?" he snapped.

"Um right. Hang on. I should have Tony's tracking info up any second." Gibbs could hear him typing away on his keyboard. "Okay, here we go. He's still in Luray," he told Gibbs.

"But where, McGee? 'Cause he isn't in his motel room," Gibbs growled.

"I'm pulling up the details now. Okay, okay, got it. He's not that far from you, Boss! Looks like he left the Bluebird about an hour ago. He seems to be stationary at the moment. He's less than a mile away from the motel," he said excitedly.

"Can you get a fix on my phone and triangulate it against Tony's?" Gibbs wanted to know.

"Yeah, no problem. Let me get that going."

Gibbs walked outside. There was no reason to stay in the room.

"Okay, got it. He's east of you," McGee told him.

Gibbs walked around behind the motel. There was a wooded area that fed up into the mountain. He began to move in that direction.

"That's good. You're headed his way," McGee encouraged him. "When you get a little further, angle north a bit as you keep moving east."

He pulled a pin light out of his jacket pocket, and continued to follow McGee's directions as he passed into the woods, turning left and right as instructed. As the underbrush became denser, he began to see splintered branches on the shrubbery he was passing through. _'Probably broken by Tony when he came through,' _he told himself. If it had been lighter, he probably would have been able to find his footprints.

"You're getting really close now," McGee's voice cut into his musing. "Looks like he should be a few hundred feet directly ahead of you."

Gibbs sped up, pushing through the bushes and tiny trees in front of him. Up ahead lay a stream, and sitting in the middle of it was Tony.

"I see him," he told McGee.

"Is he alright?" McGee asked anxiously.

"Looks like. I have to go. You did good, Tim," he said softly into the phone. Disconnecting, he slid his phone into his pocket and moved towards Tony, as quietly as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Convergence of Memory**

**Part Four**

Tony's head was down, so he didn't see Gibbs approaching. When Gibbs got close enough to be heard, he softly called his name to get his attention.

Tony raised his head and turned to look at him. He blinked a few times, as if trying to clear his eyes, and finally asked, "Gibbs?"

Gibbs slid his pin light over Tony for a brief moment. He was a mess. Most of the bandages had fallen off, and the few that remained hung from his face by threads. Even in the near dark he could see that the cuts from yesterday's explosion had scabbed over, leaving Tony with angry looking patches of red crisscrosses. His stomach lurched, and he searched for something to say that wouldn't give his concerns away.

"Is this your family emergency?" Gibbs managed, and immediately wanted to kick himself. That wasn't how he'd planned to start this conversation, by putting Tony on the defensive. He had seen Tony flinch, right before he put on a goofy grin.

"Funny you should ask that," Tony answered, in the slow, over-enunciated manner so often used by people when they have had too much to drink. "That's exactly what this is. You should go away, Boss. Family matters are very private."

"I don't think so." Gibbs took a step closer as he spoke.

"Not true! You, more than anyone else, should know just how private they can be." Tony waved his hands for emphasis as he answered; inadvertently slapping them against the water he was sitting in. This made him erupt into giggles, and he then purposely splashed water towards Gibbs. Despite his best efforts, his voice had slurred slightly when he spoke, which told Gibbs that Tony was indeed drunk.

"I meant, I'm not leaving," Gibbs clarified for him, and crossed his arms stubbornly.

As Tony absorbed that, all the humor drained from his face. "Go home, Gibbs. I'll be back on Monday," he said in a flat voice.

Gibbs just sat down next to the stream, without saying anything more.

Tony sat and stared at him for a long while. When it became clear that Gibbs had no intention of moving, he sighed, and staggered to his feet. With water dripping off him, he turned his back to Gibbs and climbed out of the stream, heading deeper into the woods.

Gibbs stood, hopped over the stream, and started after him. He wasn't about to let Tony out of his sight. "Where are you going, DiNozzo?" he called out.

"This is my new exercise regime. Late night hiking, just me and ….." His voice trailed off. He wasn't going to share with Gibbs who had been accompanying him for the last day. Instead, he angrily swatted at the branches that were in front of him, and pushed onward.

Gibbs let him go for a little longer, but finally he reached out and caught Tony by the bicep. "Enough," he said.

Tony violently yanked his arm out of Gibbs' grasp, but that caused him to lose his balance and stumble. Before Gibbs could grab him, he had landed in a heap on the ground.

"Come on, Tony," Gibbs said gently. "Let's go back to your motel room."

"Can't," was Tony's muffled reply.

"I'll help you," Gibbs offered, bending down and touching Tony's shoulder.

"No!" Tony shook his head obstinately, scooting out of Gibbs' reach.

"You're all wet, Tony. You need to get on dry clothes," Gibbs pointed out, trying to reason with him.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Tony asked then, looking up at him.

"I was worried about you," Gibbs told him honestly.

"No reason to be. I'm fine. The EMTs yesterday patched me all up. Granted, I may be a little damp right not, but that's just temporary. I'll dry off soon enough." Tony tried for his typical carefree grin, as he purposely misinterpreted why Gibbs might be worried.

"Don't lie to me," Gibbs said quietly, and he knelt down beside Tony. "Not this time."

Tony gazed at him. For just a second he looked like a cornered animal, but then he looked away. "Trust me, you don't want the truth," he said so softly Gibbs had to strain to hear him.

"Why are you running, Tony?" Gibbs asked, ignoring what he had said.

Tony looked at him again and dredged a grin up from somewhere. " 'M not running. Walking, Boss. I'm walking, or at least I was," he waved his arms, gesturing to where he sat on the ground. "You need to stop tackling me to the ground. People are going to start talking." Gibbs wanted to kiss the irritating smirk right off his face, but knew that now was definitely not the time to explore that.

"Let's stop playing games, DiNozzo. Haven't we been doing that for long enough?" Gibbs pressed.

Tony gave a bitter little laugh. "Games are what I'm good at, Boss. Thought you knew that."

_**It took the manager of the hotel two hours to get a hold of his father. Tony had been able to give the man his dad's office number, and while he sat in the lobby, nervously playing tick tack toe with himself, his father's assistant had worked to track his dad down. When his father finally called the hotel, the manager and his dad had a long conversation. Although he could only hear one side of it, he listened intently. The manager had started out using an angry, clipped voice, but as the conversation had continued, his tone had changed. Now he was laughing at whatever his dad had just said.**_

"_**Love works that way sometimes," the man chuckled, then paused to listen.**_

"_**That is most generous of you, sir. Shall l just add that to the other charges on your credit card?" Again he stopped to listen to the response.**_

"_**I'll send someone up to the suite to help Young Master DiNozzo pack. Then we'll get both him and the luggage to the airport……..No, no problem at all. Don't worry about a thing…..Would you like to speak to your son? .......Yes, I'll make sure he understands……Thank you again, sir. Have a wonderful evening."**_

_**Before he knew it, their bags had been packed, and he'd been taken to the airport, where there was a ticket waiting for him. Then he was aboard a plane, on his way to Los Angeles, where his father would meet him. Tony tried to watch the movie on the trip, but had a hard time concentrating. The last few hours had been too much for him, and he was feeling sick. He contented himself with trying to solve the crossword puzzle in the on-flight magazine. When the plane landed, and Tony saw his father waiting for him in the waiting area, he'd been unable to resist running over to him, and wrapping his arms around him.**_

"_**Really Tony," his father had said, as he'd worked to extract himself from the embrace. "Don't make a scene. Act your age."**_

"_**I was worried something had happened to you," Tony tried to explain.**_

"_**Something came up that I had to attend to immediately. I was only gone for two days, not two years," he father said in exasperation. "Come along, now. We need to get to another gate so you can catch your next flight."**_

_**Tony was confused. "My next flight? Aren't you coming with me?"**_

"_**No. I need to spend a few more days here in LA. Since there are only two days left of your spring break, I've made arrangements for you to go back to school a little early. Maria will pick you up at LaGuardia, and drive you up to school."**_

Gibbs had watched as Tony's eyes had glazed over. He had no idea what was going on, but it was more than just Tony being drunk. Mentally, he was a million miles away. Reaching out, Gibbs gently cupped Tony's cheek. "Tony?" he asked softly. "Hey, Tony."

Tony jumped slightly when he felt a hand on his face. Surfacing from the memory, he looked down and saw that Gibbs was holding his face. He looked up at his boss, trying to access whether he'd said something out loud to give himself away.

Gibbs watched as Tony snapped out of it. When he was sure he had Tony's attention, he asked, "What were you thinking?"

Tony's eyes slid down to Gibbs' hand once more and then back up to his eyes. Gibbs gazed back at him, unblinkingly. Tony had never seen that expression on Gibbs' face before, and he knew there was an invitation there. He wanted so much to lean into the touch, to reach out and touch Gibbs too; but that would never do. Not now, when he wasn't sure what was going to come out of his mouth at any given moment. Pulling back until Gibbs was no longer touching him, he gave a forced little snort.

"What was I thinking about? Not a thing. You know me, Gibbs. I try to avoid thinking." Tony struggled to his feet again. "Gotta get moving. Can't see the stars from here. Need to find somewhere to watch the sunrise. It's part of the new routine," he said in that overly cheerful voice.

Gibbs didn't need to glance at his watch to know that the sunrise was hours away. Tony wouldn't last that long out here, not while he was wet and drunk. Not knowing what else to do right then, he followed Tony.

They hadn't gone very far before they came to a clearing. There was a large, well used fire pit in the center of it. Clearly the spot was used by either hikers or hunters on a fairly regular basis. Gibbs looked up at the sky. "You can see the stars from here," he pointed out, and watched as Tony glanced up. Gibbs didn't miss the fact that Tony was shivering and his teeth were clattering. He needed to get warm, sooner rather than later. "Why don't we stop here for a while? I'll even build a fire." Gibbs forced himself to sound cheerful.

Tony turned and looked at him, considering what Gibbs had said. He was having difficulties walking, although he didn't want to admit it. _'Maybe if I warmed up some, I can pull myself together,'_ he thought. He wasn't doing a very good job of it right now, he knew. He just couldn't seem to get in the groove. If he wasn't careful, he'd say something he regretted. _'Might as well give in; Gibbs was obviously not going away, and a fire did sound good.' _

"Like Arizona?" Tony asked aloud. "Was thinking about that yesterday, Boss."

"Yeah, like Arizona. You stay here; I'll go scrounge up some firewood. Just sit down, Tony. Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." Gibbs didn't want to leave Tony alone, but the twigs and branches in the clearing were too damp to use for starting a fire. He'd have to go back under the trees to get something that would catch easily. "Promise me you'll stay put."

Tony was now sitting on the ground. Lying back, he gazed up at the night sky. "Not going anywhere, Gibbs. Gonna find the Big Dipper again," he slurred.

"That's real good, Tony. You do that," Gibbs encouraged.

It didn't take Gibbs much time to get enough dry wood and leaves to build the fire. When he got back to the clearing, Tony was still lying in the same spot, staring straight up. "I'll have the fire going in no time," Gibbs told him.

"S'good," Tony murmured vaguely, not paying much attention to Gibbs.

Gibbs arranged the wood in the pit, and then pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket, along with a map of the area he'd picked up at a gas station. After ripping the map into little pieces, he tucked them under dry leaves and used the lighter to ignite them. Within minutes he had a nice warm fire going. Walking over to Tony, he leaned down and offered a hand. "Come on Tony. Let's get you closer to the fire so you can dry off and warm up."

Tony reached up, placing his hand in Gibbs', and allowed himself to be pulled up. Once Gibbs had him on his feet, he wrapped his other arm around Tony's shoulders, and gently steered him towards the fire.

"Do you remember Arizona?" Tony asked him, when they were standing in front of the flames.

'_How could I forget?' _Gibbs silently said to himself. "I thought you were going to get that inheritance and leave," he admitted to Tony. That made Tony turn his head and look at him. He studied Gibbs' face, searching for something.

"Wouldn't do that," Tony finally said. "Couldn't do that."

"That's what you said," Gibbs said quietly. He didn't pursue it further, though, because he could feel Tony shaking under his arm.

"Come on, we need to get you warm." He reluctantly pulled his arm away, and moved Tony as close to the fire as he dared. He then positioned Tony so his back was turned towards the fire. As the light from the fire cast a warm golden glow on Tony's back, Gibbs slid in front of him, and pulled Tony close, fitting his body against Tony's. He had originally merely intended to lend his own body heat to the younger man, but the minute their bodies touched, Tony shuddered, and Gibbs knew it wasn't from the cold. Reaching down with his arms, Gibbs gently grasped Tony's wrists with his hands, and pressed his own arms against Tony's. They stood like that for a very long time, chest to chest, arm against arm, matching their breathing to each other, letting the heat from the flames wash over them.

When Tony finally sagged against him, burying his head on his shoulder, Gibbs wrapped his arms around Tony. "Let's sit down," he murmured, as he carefully helped Tony down and settled him between his legs. With his arms still wrapped tightly around Tony, Gibbs drew him back against his chest, and rested his chin on the younger man's shoulder. "Warmer?" he asked.

"Mmhmm," Tony responded, closing his eyes as he nestled closer, going limp and letting Gibbs hold him upright.

Neither man said anything for quite a while. Finally, when he knew Tony was totally relaxed, Gibbs repeated the question he'd asked before. "Why'd you run, Tony?" They had to deal with it, or they couldn't really move on. He was hoping Tony was ready. He could feel Tony tense, and Gibbs hugged him a bit tighter. Tony didn't answer him for so long that Gibbs was beginning to fear that he'd made a mistake.

"Had to. The case," Tony finally whispered. "Too close to home." Gibbs didn't respond; he didn't want to do anything that would stop Tony from talking. After few minutes Tony said, "poor boy."

More time lapsed, and then Gibbs heard, "lousy bastard." He pulled Tony in closer.

"So alone………………" Gibbs just waited.

"Neglected……………..scared………..alone." Gibbs wasn't sure if Tony was talking about Brian, himself, or both. He just sat, holding Tony, waiting until he was ready to say more.

"Wanted to punch him…………………couldn't think………………..memories kept coming."

Tony didn't say anything more after that. He didn't need to. Gibbs understood enough. He didn't know the particulars, but that wasn't important. Tony's childhood must have been as lonely as the boy's, but unlike Brian, Tony was a fighter, a survivor. He'd learned how to put on a happy face and hide the pain. When that had gone haywire yesterday, Tony had panicked. He had spent the night looking for ways to push all of the unpleasant memories away until he had his armor back in place.

Loosening one hand from his hold, he lifted it up and ran it soothingly through Tony's hair. Tony rubbed his head against the hand and made a small keening sound. Then, without warning, he pulled himself loose from Gibbs' hold, and looked up the older man.

"What do you want, Gibbs?" he asked, studying Gibbs intensely.

Gibbs knew this was the moment.

"You," he answered. "I want you, Tony."

That seemed to open the flood gates. Tony launched himself at Gibbs, wrapping his arms around him while frantically seeking his mouth with his own. Tony's hands were everywhere as their tongues danced around each other while they kissed -- in Gibbs' hair, running down his neck, exploring his chest. When Tony pulled his mouth away, and began to run his lips and teeth down Gibbs' jaw and neck, Gibbs reached out and lightly grasped Tony's face with both his hands, trying to gentle him. He was too frenzied.

"Easy," he whispered. Still holding on to Tony, he guided his face up and covered Tony's lips with his own. Gibbs pulled him into a deep, slow kiss, allowing his hands to slide back until they were in Tony's hair. He slid his tongue into Tony's mouth, lightly running it along the top of Tony's upper palate, pleased when he felt Tony gasp and shiver. Slowly Tony relinquished control and allowed Gibbs to set the tempo. Gibbs stopped kissing him long enough to pull the last two remaining bandages off of Tony's face. They weren't doing any good anymore, and were getting in the way. Then he recaptured Tony's lips. Finally Gibbs moved his mouth, and ran his tongue ever so lightly along the underside of Tony's jaw, searching for Tony's triggers. Every time Tony would mewl, Gibbs would slow down and kiss, nibble, and lick that area, memorizing the spot so he could return to it later.

Eventually he pushed Tony back until he was lying down, and leaning over him, he covered Tony's body with his own. As he worked on Tony's neck with his lips, he allowed his hand to drift down to Tony's hips so he could assess how wet he still was, and was pleased to discover that he was almost dry. When he touched Tony's hip, the younger man pressed his groin up to meet the touch.

"Need more, Gibbs," he begged. "Please," he whimpered, as he spread his legs and tried to wrap them around Gibbs in a wanton invitation.

'_Should have anticipated that,' _Gibbs chided himself. He had only intended for this to be a heavy petting session. He ought to have known that Tony would be desperate for release, after all the liquor and emotional upheaval.

"I know," he told Tony, as he slid his hand under his sweatshirt. Gibbs could feel hard muscle under soft skin as his hand skimmed up Tony's chest. When he found what he was after, he swirled a finger round and round the areola until Tony was moaning, then he lightly ran a finger back and forth over the nipple, feeling it distend even further in response to the stimulation. He then repeated the process on the other side. As his hand began to slide south, Tony raised his hips and rubbed his groin against Gibbs'.

"Oh god," Tony moaned, "please!"

Gibbs pulled back so he could open the button fly crotch of Tony's jeans and tug the pants down off of his hips, freeing his erect penis. He pushed Tony's sweatshirt up far enough that he was able to lower his head and run his tongue around the inside of Tony's belly button. Then he began to kiss his way lower, blowing warm puffs of air over the skin he had just moistened with his lips, causing tiny goose bumps to blossom across Tony's body. When he got to Tony's cock, he lightly ran his tongue around the tip, savoring his first taste of Tony's precum. He then slid his tongue up and down the underside of the shaft, before opening his mouth wider and taking all of Tony in. Tony yelped and instinctually thrust up. Gibbs reached up and grasped one of Tony's hands in his own. When their fingers were intertwined, he began to move his head up and down the shaft. It was over almost as soon as it began. Tony was incapable of control. His fingers tightened around Gibbs', right before he made a series of stuttering whimpers and came. Gibbs swallowed it all, waiting until the final shudders of Tony's orgasm had abated. Then, still holding firmly to Tony's hand, he slid back up his body and claimed a long, sweet kiss.

"Thank you," Tony breathed against his lips.

He touched Tony's face, which was warm from the fire and glistening from perspiration. Tony's eyes were closed, and Gibbs lightly ran a finger over the lids then down his check and across his lips. "Let's go back to the motel now," he said softly.

Tony's eyes flew open. "No!" he exclaimed, clutching at Gibbs' back to prevent him from getting up. "What about you? Aren't you going to fuck me?"

There was no way Gibbs was going to do that. Not there, outside on the bare ground. Not the first time. Plus, they had no supplies. Much as he wanted Tony, Gibbs wasn't about to take the risk of hurting him. "When we get back," he promised, and he kissed Tony again. "I can wait. It's cold and the fire's dying down. Let's go back." Tony reached a hand up, and touched Gibbs' face. Gibbs turned his head and kissed his palm. Then Tony allowed Gibbs to help him up.

When Gibbs was sure he had the fire out, he wrapped Tony in one arm, and together they began to retrace their steps. Gibbs had been careful to leave markers for himself as he'd followed Tony earlier, so they had no problems finding their way out. This time Tony had no trouble leaping over the stream, and soon they were back at the motel.

When they got to the room, Tony didn't wait for Gibbs to say anything. The minute the door had shut, he began to undress. Gibbs just stood and watched. Tony's body was beautiful. He had lost weight this year, and the leanness accentuated his muscle tone. His skin was a darker than Gibbs', more tawny, and Gibbs remembered how soft it had been under his hand earlier. When he was completely nude, Tony pulled the covers back on the bed, lay down, and looked over at Gibbs. "There's cream in the bathroom," he said huskily.

Gibbs was surprised by Tony's boldness. Because Tony spent so much time hiding his true self, he hadn't expected him to be so comfortable with his own nakedness. _'Of course, Tony doesn't need clothes to form a disguise," _he silently reminded himself. But they were done with that; he wasn't going to let that happen again. Not with him. Those little, disjointed confessions that Tony had made earlier weren't enough to heal the wounds, but they had been a start. Gibbs knew they'd have to discuss what happened further, but not now. Now was the time to cement their new relationship, to finalize the connection. He took off his own clothes, and went to the bathroom to grab the complimentary bottle of body lotion. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. Just like them. Carrying it out, he crossed to the bed, and lowered himself down to where Tony was waiting.

Again Gibbs refused to rush. He wanted to savor this. Taking his time, he mapped out every inch of Tony's body with his hands and his mouth, and gave the younger man time to explore also. When he couldn't wait any longer, and was finally prepared to enter Tony for the first time, he reached down and touched Tony's face once more. As he pushed himself in, slowly but steadily, Gibbs said quietly, "Not alone." He repeated that to Tony over and over again, as he thrust against him, making sure to tag Tony's prostate as often as possible. Tony had gotten hard again, and Gibbs wrapped his hand around Tony's cock. "Tell me," he said, as his hand began to match the rhythm of his thrusts, and he knew Tony was on the cusp. "Tell me."

As he came all over Gibbs' hand, the tightening of his muscles milking out Gibbs' own orgasm, Tony said, "Us."

Later, as Tony lay sleeping in his arms, Gibbs thought about how close he'd come to never having this. It would have been so easy to just keep going as they had been, to ignore the unspoken desire. It was actually almost a miracle they were here now. Neither one of them was good at talking. But Tony had found the perfect word to say earlier – 'us'. Gibbs gave a small smile then, and hugged Tony tighter against him. Adjusting the covers so they were all the way up, he closed his eyes. They were together now, and he'd fight like hell to make sure it stayed that way.

* * *

Friday morning found McGee sitting wearily in the bullpen, nursing a cup of coffee, trying hard to wake up. It was very early, and there was almost no one in yet. He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the night before. He'd spent it periodically checking on the GPS locations of both Gibbs' and Tony's cell phones. He hadn't been overly concerned with where they went, he just wanted to know that they were together. When they finally stopped moving for a few hours, though, he couldn't resist, and he pulled up the details of where they were – the Bluebird Motel. When they were still there this morning, he'd had to smile.

He took another long pull on his coffee when he heard the telltale clumping of boots headed his way.

"Timmy!" Abby cried shrilly as soon as she saw him. "Have you heard from Tony? I still can't get him to answer his cellphone!"

"Nope," he answered.

Abby looked around. "Where's Gibbs?" she asked, when she realized they were alone.

"Personal day. He'll be back on Monday," McGee told her. Abby swung around to look at him. Her eyes narrowed.

"Isn't Tony….." she started to ask.

"Yep," he interrupted her.

"Are they ….."

"I have orders not to say anything to anyone," he told her solemnly.

"High five?" Abby asked, her eyebrow arched.

"Oh yeah," he smirked, and held up his hand as she shrieked and smacked her palm against his.


End file.
